The path home was faster than he expected. Maybe it was because his head was still full of Marin's excited voice, or maybe because that strange feeling in his chest wouldn't leave him alone.
When he opened the door, the smell of familiar spices enveloped him immediately. His mother was in the kitchen, humming softly while stirring something in the pot, and his father was sitting at the table with the newspaper open, as if it were a scene from an old drama that repeated every day.
"Welcome back, Yoichi..." Iyo said, sweet as always, without even looking at him: "Go wash your hands, lunch is almost ready...."
"Okay..." Isagi replied, heading to the bathroom.
Soon after, the three of them were at the table. The steaming rice, grilled fish, and miso soup made the atmosphere even cozier. Isagi took a few moments, fiddling with his chopsticks, until he finally mustered the courage to speak:
"Mom... there's something I wanted to ask...."
Iyo looked up, curious.
"Hm? What is it about?"
He scratched the back of his neck and sighed as he said.
"It's that... I met a classmate from school. She really likes cosplay. Like... a lot. But the person she wanted to make the costume for quit working on it. So... I said that maybe you could help...."
Iyo blinked a few times. Then, a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.
"Ooooh? A classmate, huh?" She rested her chin on her hands, leaning toward him: "Yoichi bringing requests from girls to me... who would've thought."
"It's not what you're thinking!" He retorted, sighing with his hand on his nose: "I just thought you might like to help someone who takes what they do so seriously...."
She laughed softly, but soon became thoughtful, tapping her chopsticks on the bowl as if it were a judge's gavel.
"Hmmm... I could even help, but on one condition...."
"Condition?" Isagi arched an eyebrow.
She pointed directly at him.
"You'll learn to sew with me too."
"...What?"
He was in shock, not knowing if she was joking or not. Beside him, Issei let out a loud laugh.
"Hahaha! See, Yoichi? Your mom just found an excuse to spend more time with you. She's been complaining that you only think about training, training, and training...."
"Hey!" Iyo pouted, giving a light slap on her husband's shoulder: "You weren't supposed to say that!"
Isagi, however, paused for a moment. His fork suspended in the air, his eyes fixed on the plate. A different warmth spread through his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
He took a deep breath and looked at Iyo Isagi.
"...Okay. I accept. I'll learn too...."
His mother's expression lit up immediately, almost like Marin's when she talked about cheesecake.
"Seriously?! Ah, I knew my Yoichi was a good son!"
After lunch, Iyo took her son to the living room, where she brought out a huge box of threads, fabrics, and needles that seemed to have come from a hidden treasure.
"Alright, let's start with something simple. Straight stitch. It's the base of everything."
Isagi watched attentively every movement, every precise gesture of her fingers. He tried to imitate, clumsy at first, but soon getting the hang of it. And then, something curious happened: he noticed that his gaze became more and more focused, attentive to the smallest details, the thread passing through the needle, the tension of the fabric, the symmetry of the stitches.
It was like training shots on goal, calculating angles, adjusting strength. Only now it was with threads.
"If I don't get the pressure right, the stitch gets loose. If I pull too much, the fabric wrinkles. It's just like ball control..."
And, without realizing it, his precision increased with each attempt. His fingers, accustomed to dominating a ball on the field, now slid over the needle with an almost frightening naturalness.
Iyo watched him with wide eyes.
"This is unbelievable... Yoichi, you have incredible hands for this! You really inherited my talent."
He furrowed his brow, surprised.
"Talent...?"
"Yes! Not everyone can learn this fast. I took much longer at your age. But you... it seems like you were born for this...."
Isagi lowered his eyes to the fabric. He hadn't thought of it that way, but indeed... each stitch seemed like a natural extension of his concentration. As if sewing was another way to train his field vision, notice details, anticipate flaws, adjust movements.
Time passed without him noticing.
At first, his stitches were uncertain, but in less than an hour, Isagi could already sew straight lines firmly. What should have been just a basic exercise turned into something almost hypnotic. Each time he threaded the needle through the fabric, the sequence flowed more naturally, until the cloth in front of him displayed rows of stitches aligned with almost professional precision.
Iyo, patient, began to show other types of sewing. Zigzag stitch. Simple hem. Small finishes to secure edges. Yoichi followed everything as if it were part of a training session: eyes attentive, fingers reacting at the right instant, correcting errors before they even appeared.
With each new exercise, he absorbed faster. A stitch she thought would take a week to teach, Isagi mastered in minutes. When she realized, he no longer looked like a beginner.
"Now let's see how far you can go..." Iyo murmured, handing him a larger fabric.
Isagi took a deep breath, thought for a few seconds, and then smiled faintly.
He took the red and black cloth that his mother had set aside and, on his own, began to cut, mark, and join the parts. It was no longer a simple exercise. It had turned into a personal challenge.
The hours passed quickly. While the sun set outside, tinting the room with orange tones, Isagi sewed with concentration.
When he finished, he lifted the finished piece and held it out in front of his mother. A soccer jersey. Red in the center, with black sides and golden details. On the chest, the Bastard München symbol, and on the back, the number 11 embroidered with his name above it. He had basically made the jersey that he would wear in the future in the Neo Egoist League.
Iyo's eyes widened, bringing her hand to her mouth.
"Yoichi... you did this alone?"
He nodded, a bit awkwardly.
"Yeah... it might not be perfect, but..." He looked at the jersey and smiled: "I wanted to try. One day, I'll wear the real one. But for now, this one serves as a reminder of what I want to achieve...."
Iyo took the jersey carefully, as if it were a delicate treasure. She ran her fingers over the seams, analyzing every detail, and couldn't hold back a smile full of pride.
"This is amazing. For a novice... no, for someone who started today, this is unbelievable."
She looked up, emotional.
"Yoichi... I'm so proud of you."
Her words hit him hard.
He looked away, trying to hide the warmth rising to his face. In his past life, when had his mother said that to him...? Never.... Not even when he became a hugely successful soccer player....
Issei, who had overheard their conversation from afar, approached to get a better look at the jersey. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he remained silent, analyzing every seam, every detail.
"Yoichi... this is incredible." He ran his hand over the fabric, testing the firmness of the threads. "You really did this? Alone?"
Isagi scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly.
"Yeah... with Mom's help. But most of it was me."
Issei smiled proudly, different from the playful laugh from before. It was a rarer smile, loaded with sincerity.
"You always surprise me, son. First in soccer... now even in this. If you keep going like this, it'll be impossible for anyone to stop you."
His father's words hit him full force. Yoichi was left speechless, just clutching the jersey to his chest for a moment, as if he wanted to keep that moment to himself.
Soon after, he took the piece to his room, folding it carefully and placing it on the bed. He grabbed his phone and typed quickly.
"My mom agreed to help you with the cosplays. Whenever you want, you can come."
Marin's response came almost instantly, full of emojis:
[Marin] — "EEEH?! SERIOUSLY?! I'M COMING OVER RIGHT NOW!! (≧▽≦)✧"
Isagi's eyes widened and he quickly typed back.
[Isagi] — "No! Better come on Monday, after classes. Tomorrow I'll be busy too. It'll be calmer."
After a few seconds, another burst of notifications:
[Marin] — "Okay... BUT I WON'T BE ABLE TO WAIT!! (╥﹏╥) Monday I'm there!!"
He sighed and laughed to himself, putting the phone in his pocket.
After the bath, he stopped in front of the mirror, with the steam still covering part of the glass. He ran the towel through his hair, leaving it messy, and then really looked at himself.
Compared to a month ago, his body had changed a lot. The muscles in his arms and abdomen were more defined, visible even under the soft bathroom light. He smiled faintly, pulling the hooded sweatshirt over.
"It's paying off..." he murmured to himself.
That night, instead of resting, he decided to run because he was feeling too restless. Ten kilometers, the same route as always. The cold wind hit his face, his heart raced, and each step echoed on the silent asphalt.
When he got near the river, next to a bridge, he stopped in front of a large tree. An old thought came to his mind, a training he remembered seeing in Hajime no Ippo.
He shook the trunk hard, making a bunch of leaves detach. Then, he positioned himself firmly and began.
His left arm moved quickly, but without unnecessary force. The jab wasn't to hit, but to capture.
Shhh!
The tips of his fingers pinched a leaf before it fell.
Shhh!
Another one.
Shhh!
And another.
Three leaves were caught between his fingers, while two escaped and touched the ground.
He opened his hand, observing the leaves trembling lightly with the wind, and felt a rush of adrenaline. It was different from punching. It was much harder.
He shook the trunk again and the leaves up again, firmly, and repeated the movement. His eyes shone in the darkness, tracking every detail. His left hand advanced like a needle piercing fabric, capturing leaf by leaf.
Gradually, the pace increased. Five leaves. Then six. Ten. His arm burned, his body sweated, but his mind was light.
When he felt he no longer had the strength to keep his arm steady, Isagi left the trunk alone and took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell quickly, sweat dripped down his forehead, but the feeling dominating his body was one of silent victory.
He opened his hand again, observing the crumpled leaves between his fingers, and smiled.
"...It's not perfect yet. But it's a start...."
He put the leaves in the pocket of his sweatshirt, as if they were small personal trophies, and started the run back home. The night air was colder, but his body emanated heat. Each step was heavier, and yet, there was a lightness inside him.
Upon arriving home, he entered quietly, so as not to disturb his parents who were already sleeping. He took off his sneakers at the entrance, went straight to his room, and turned on the soft light of the lamp. He looked at the bed, where the jersey he had sewn earlier was still folded. The simple fact of seeing it made him smile again.
"Another training completed."
But it wasn't time to lie down yet.
He grabbed the exercise mat that was rolled up next to the bed and spread it on the floor. He set the phone timer for thirty minutes and positioned himself.
First, he started with deep breaths, controlling the rhythm of the air coming in and out. Sweat still dripped, but with each long inhalation, his body seemed to relax.
He went into downward-facing dog pose, stretching his spine and tired shoulders. Then he moved to plank, keeping his abdomen firm. He moved slowly, transitioning between each position as if it were a continuous flow, always keeping his breathing as a guide.
Time seemed to stretch. The effort from the leaf jabs, the run, the weight in his muscles... everything dissolved slowly as the yoga calmed every fiber of his body.
Gradually, his mind quieted too.
Since he had included a new training in his routine earlier, at the dojo, he needed to reorganize the entire schedule again. From now on, he would wake up every day at five in the morning to go to the gym, Monday to Friday, before classes. When school ended, he would have soccer training three times a week with the school team; on the other two days, he would play soccer on the beach. At night, he would run ten kilometers three days a week and, on the other two, attend the dojo.
On weekends, he reserved time to rest, work on other aspects of soccer, and on Saturdays, return to the dojo. Yoga and meditation would continue to be daily practices, regardless of whether it was a weekday or weekend.
When the timer beeped, Isagi finished sitting in lotus position, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees.
"...Tomorrow will be better...." He murmured in a low voice.
He folded the mat carefully, turned off the light, and threw himself onto the bed. This time, sleep came quickly, heavy, as if the whole world had waited just for that moment to let him rest.
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